Human Nature – Michael Jackson
See that girl? She knows I'm watching. She likes the way I stare.
.
She presses her wine glass to her lips, taking pause as she settles her eyes firmly onto her foot, curling her toes and studying them with avid interest. Her interest in her feet has to seem as high as his own in her. Otherwise he'll catch on. She won't let him know he's got to her. She won't show him she knows he's staring at her, gawking really. But it's not a creepy gaze, this time.
His eyes are boring into her as he studies every nuance of her face, every line, every freckle, every blemish. She should feel uncomfortable, but she doesn't. Sure she teases him about it at the precinct, but here in his loft, curled up on his couch, on opposite ends of the couch, her wine glass cradled in her palm she lets him have this one. Just for a moment. The strongest contributing factor has to be the deep red liquid she's now tipping into her mouth, taking much too large a gulp to be considered dainty as she drains the crystal glass. Her disregard for his gaze may in part due to this being her fourth glass. She's not drunk or even tipsy, but the warmth which has settled over her makes it okay. She knows he can see the flush it's given her cheeks.
She cradles the empty glass and he leans forward, she doesn't have to look up to realise he's reaching for the bottle he set on the table when they sat down. Her only indication of his movements is the rustle of his dress shirt and the shift in the couch cushions. He's beside her now, not too close. She finally meets his gaze, nods slowly at the proffered bottle and extends her glass to meet it, finding it already poised ready to pour. He fills her glass and tops up his own almost-empty glass.
She hears him set the now empty bottle on the table, the rustle of his shirt giving away his movement beforehand. He doesn't shift further down the couch again but maintains the proximity, his knee just touching hers but his head and shoulders angled diagonally across the cushion. He's close but he's giving her space. He always knows the right thing to do, the right thing to say.
She smiles at him quickly in thanks then takes a sip of the wine. She'll savour this one, after this she'll have to leave. They're not opening another bottle. They do have to work tomorrow. She can't help the smile that plays on her lips, she presses the glass against it, a desperate attempt to conceal.
But he's caught it, obviously still watching. She knows he has. She hears his exhale as he laughs silently around the smile she's sure is playing across his own lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. He's spent so long staring at her now, watching her for years, feigning that he needed the inspiration that she knows he never really required to begin with. Not after that first case. She realises she's spent as long studying him as he has her. But that's okay.
She lulls her head to the side, meeting his gaze.
"What's so funny, Castle?" she asks, a challenge to admit what they both know he's been doing.
"You keep smiling at your foot," he offers, arching a brow at her in challenge. She has noticed he's started doing that more, taking on her movements. It's slightly disturbing, but comforting all the same.
"Hmm," she offers with a shrug, turning more of her body to face him. Apparently he's challenging her too, caught onto the game she's been playing. But that's okay. She likes this particular game.